Maybe it was inevitable that they had started kissing—and just as inevitable that they’d ended up having sex. The unexpected and unwanted factor had been encountering her intact hymen and realising he was the first man she’d ever been intimate with. At the time he’d been irritated by the fact she hadn’t told him because, according to friends who knew about such things, taking a woman’s virginity brought with it all kinds of problems—not least the kind of mindless devotion which was the last thing he needed. In fact, he despised it, for reasons which still made him shudder. His mouth hardened. He had enough difficulty keeping women at arm’s length as it was, without some idealistic innocent longing for rose petals and wedding bells.
But his irritation had lasted no longer than it took to resume his powerful rhythm inside her. And she had surprised him. Not just because she had proved to be an energetic and enthusiastic lover who had kissed more sweetly than any other woman he’d ever known. No. Because she seemed to have realised herself the limitations of their brief affair and to have accepted the fact that he had ghosted her from his life afterwards. She hadn’t made any awkward phone calls or sent texts carefully constructed in order to appear ‘casual’. And if his abundantly healthy ego had been fleetingly dented by her apparent eagerness to put what had happened behind her, the feeling had soon left him, because it was entirely mutual. But it made him realise that in many ways Lucy Phillips was exceptional. Emotionally independent, a trained midwife and, thus, the perfect candidate for what he needed...
He felt his mouth dry as he studied her earnest face and the clothes which failed to flatter her curvy shape. It was hard now to believe that she had choked out her fulfilment as he had driven into her firm body or to imagine the way he had fingered her nipples in the blazing Greek sunshine so that they had puckered into tight little nubs just ripe for sucking. But when you stopped to think about it, all of this was hard to believe and he needed to present his case so that she would receive it sympathetically. Rising to his feet, he addressed her stumbled question as he slowly approached her fireside chair. ‘I’m telling you because I need your help, Lucy.’
‘My help?’ she echoed, her bright eyes looking
up at him in surprise as his shadow enveloped her in darkness. ‘Are you kidding? How on earth can I help someone like you when you’re one of the richest men in the world and I have practically nothing?’
‘No, I’m not kidding,’ he negated firmly. ‘And, far from having nothing, you have something I need very badly. Niko’s baby needs security and continuity. He needs a home and I’m in a position to offer him one. But not on my own. Not as a single man whose work takes him to opposite sides of the world and who has no experience of babies, or children. And that’s why I’m asking you to marry me, Lucy. To be my wife and the mother of my orphaned nephew.’
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY’S MOUTH FELL open as she stared into the face of the powerful Greek billionaire, the flickering firelight illuminating the ebony and gold of his rugged features. She couldn’t believe what Drakon had just asked her and his question made her feel as if she was taking part in a dream. An extra-surreal dream. But surely he wouldn’t be looking so serious if he hadn’t meant it. ‘You want me to marry you?’ she verified slowly.
He nodded—though his brief frown suggested he didn’t quite agree with her choice of words. ‘I do.’
Lucy shook her hair and her heavy ponytail slithered like a thick rope against her back. Wasn’t it crazy—and sad—how, in life, timing was everything? If her brother hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would still be here. And if Drakon Konstantinou had asked her this very question a few months earlier, her reaction to it would have been totally different. Because when she’d returned home after her brief excursion to his island home—high on a mixture of raging hormones and a heady introduction to multiple orgasms—she had prayed for a scenario just like this. She’d nursed the unrealistic fantasy that what she and Drakon had shared had been special. Super-special. She had longed for him to suddenly decide his life was empty without her and that he wanted them to make a go of things. Why wouldn’t she, when he was like every woman’s dream man—despite his undeniable arrogance and detachment? When she’d always had a secret crush on him...
Of course that had never happened. He had cut her out of his life as abruptly as he had blazed into it again—at a school reunion where she’d been employed by Caro’s Canapés, the local catering firm for which she worked. In her plain green dress, she’d been serving sandwiches just before the pin-drop silence which had followed Drakon Konstantinou’s entrance into Milton school’s famous and historic hall. She remembered the way all the other men had consciously or unconsciously pulled back their shoulders and sucked in their stomachs, as if to big themselves up or look taller. But it had been to no avail because the Greek tycoon had still dominated the vast room without even trying. Like a black star, dark brilliance had radiated from his powerful body and drawn every single eye to him. Yet for some crazy and inexplicable reason, he had been looking at her.
Lucy remembered blushing deeply as she’d offered him an egg and cress sandwich because she’d been acutely aware of the time, years ago, when he’d gashed his leg while rowing for the first team and, eager to be a nurse herself, she had been helping her mother, the school matron, in the school sanatorium. Drakon had been lying on a narrow trolley, with blood seeping from his gaping wound, and Lucy had thought how much it must hurt as her mother had dabbed at it with antiseptic. But he hadn’t shown it. He hadn’t even winced, not once. She’d given him her fingers to grip and he had opened his eyes and stared at her. Stared at her with eyes as black as the night. A ripple of something unfamiliar and exciting had whispered its way down her spine and she had never forgotten that feeling. She had been only fourteen at the time, and Drakon a crucial three years older—it had been Lucy’s first experience of physical attraction towards a member of the opposite sex and it had stayed with her, all those years. Why, it had fired straight back into life when she had extended the silver platter of sandwiches towards him and met the velvety blackness of his eyes.
Was it her corresponding blush which had amused him—which had deepened when he’d pointed out, in his drawling Greek accent, that it was a rare thing to see a woman blush these days? Or was it simply curiosity which had made him hang around as the reunion was coming to an end, and the headmaster was imploring him to join him and his wife for supper? But Drakon hadn’t stayed. Amid a torrent of thundering rain, he had insisted on giving her a lift home in his fancy car and naturally Lucy had been tongue-tied by all that opulence.
It had been pretty scary to discover that her crush on him was as powerful as ever, and slightly unsettling that she couldn’t seem to keep her gaze from straying to the muscular thrust of his thighs. She remembered the potent rush of warmth deep at her core, which had made her feel both excited and a little bit embarrassed, because she wasn’t the type of person who usually thought about stuff like that. She never really came across eligible men and certainly nobody of Drakon’s calibre ever entered her life. Even the ones who were more her type tended to glance over her shoulder whilst chatting at parties, as if searching the room for someone more interesting to talk to.
Yet after the reunion, when the throaty car had slid to a halt outside her tiny riverside cottage, Drakon had turned to her and said, ‘So how are you, Lucy? I mean, really?’
Was it the sense of what had sounded like genuine interest—something she suspected was rare for a man like him—which had made her blurt out everything which had been on her mind? Well, not everything. She’d missed out the part which explained why she’d given up her beloved job in midwifery—because the reasons for that made her feel even less of a woman, and who in their right mind would wish to do that in the presence of such a gorgeous man? Instead Lucy had found herself telling him about her brother in the army, who had lost his life in that awful conflict, just as her father had done in a different war before that. And how afterwards her mother had seemed to lose the will to live and had just faded away—like one of those dusky pink roses which bloomed in the lavish walled gardens of Milton school.
She remembered the deep frown which had crossed the tycoon’s face as he’d studied her admittedly pale skin and told her that what she needed was a holiday in the sun. Had she explained that such luxuries were far beyond her grasp on her wages as a waitress, or had he just guessed? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that he had extended a careless invitation for her to holiday on his own personal Greek island.
‘You actually own an island?’ she remembered querying in disbelief.
‘Sure.’ He had glittered her a smile. ‘And my house is empty a lot of the time. It’s yours any time you want to use it.’
So she had gone. It had been an uncharacteristic response to what had probably just been a throwaway gesture on his part, but it had been too good an opportunity to miss. Although he had casually mentioned that his private jet was available, Lucy had scraped together enough money to fund a cheap flight to Athens instead and then caught the staff ferry to his private island of Prasinisos, with a pile of engrossing books to read. It had been the most impetuous thing she’d ever done and she wasn’t sure what she had expected. She certainly hadn’t expected Drakon to suddenly arrive on a glittering super-yacht the size of Jupiter later that day, when she was emerging from the swimming pool looking like a drowned rat. Nor for him to join her beside the aqua glitter of the infinity pool once she’d showered all the chlorine out of her hair and the fierce beat of the sun had made her feel all lazy and laid-back.
For a while she’d said nothing, because instinct had told her he was a man who valued silence, and gradually she had seen Drakon relax—something she’d suspected he didn’t do very often. He’d shown her the faint scar from the gash on his leg which she’d helped her mother to suture all those years ago, and something about that distant memory had made them both laugh. She remembered their eyes meeting and something intangible shimmering in the air around them. Lucy had been inexperienced, innocent and slightly out of her depth—all those things, yes. But she had also been excited and eager for what had happened later, after a delicious dinner on the terrace once his housekeeper had gone home. For Drakon to fold her into his arms and kiss her and then kiss her some more. It had been as if her every dream had come true in that moment. As if her body had been poised on the brink of something very beautiful.
She’d thought he would quickly get bored with someone who wasn’t at all experienced but her tongue’s tentative exploration of his mouth had caused a low growl of pleasure to rumble up from his throat. He’d held her so tight that her soft body had moulded into the muscular hardness of his, so that when he had carried her off to his bedroom it had felt nothing but right. Even that slight awkwardness when he had stilled inside her and momentarily glared at her hadn’t lasted longer than a couple of seconds.
The following morning she had woken naked in his bed and he had brought her dark coffee, which was thick and sweet, before taking her in his arms again, and the next few days had passed by in a sensual blur. He’d made love to her on the terrace, and in the cabin of his yacht as he’d sailed her round his island and showed her all the little bays and coves. He’d fed her grapes and trickled Greek honey onto a belly which had quivered as he’d licked it off.
And three days later it had all been over, without anything actually being said. There had been no awkward conversation or protracted farewells. He hadn’t insulted her by telling her that his diary was too jam-packed for him to be able to see her again. He’d just given her a deep kiss, said goodbye and dropped her off at the airport by helicopter so at least she hadn’t had to endure that rather bumpy ferry ride back to Athens. She hadn’t heard a squeak from him since and, once she’d realised it wasn’t going to happen, her hurt and disappointment had gradually faded into the recesses of her mind, because Lucy was nothing if not practical. She’d told herself to remember all the good bits and she’d tried not to have unrealistic expectations, because that way you could avoid hurt and disappointment as much as possible. She had been getting on with her life—her rather ordinary and predictable life—until the Greek tycoo
n had blazed back into it with the most implausible suggestion she’d ever heard!
‘I can’t believe you’re asking me to marry you,’ she breathed.
‘Well, believe it,’ he returned softly. ‘Because it’s true.’
‘But why me?’ she questioned, wishing that her heart would stop thundering. ‘There must be a million women who would make a more suitable wife for a man like you.’
He didn’t even pay her the compliment of pretending to consider her remark and certainly didn’t bother to deny it, just answered with a bluntness which somehow managed to be supremely insulting.
‘There are indeed,’ he agreed. ‘In fact, if I were to measure suitability in terms of sophistication and familiarity with my world, you would be right at the back of the queue, Lucy.’